Polka Dots
by CTMfan-13
Summary: A rite of passage
"I'm glad you find this so amusing." Patrick grumbled from his place in bed.

"I'm sorry, dearest. I know I shouldn't, but I do."

Angela, now nearly five, had started school a few weeks earlier. Her parents were well aware that she would most likely come home with sniffles and sneezes due to being around so many other children eventually, but neither of them were prepared for it to take less than a month.

Three days earlier, the school had called the maternity home asking if Shelagh could come and pick up her daughter who was running a fever. Angela seemed fine, just tired, so Shelagh had put her to bed and went about her normal routine while Angela slept. The next morning, Angela had come running into their bedroom before the alarm was due to go off.

"Mummy! Look, Mummy!" Angela whispered loudly, shaking Shelagh's arm to wake her. "I've got polka dots!"

"Polka dots?" Shelagh squinted at her daughter as she fumbled for her glasses on the bedside table. As her vision began to clear, she realized Angela was standing in front of her with her nightdress lifted up to show Shelagh her torso, covered in red spots. "Oh, sweetheart." Shelagh turned to wake up her husband.

"Patrick?"

He grunted, rolling over to face away from her.

"Patrick, wake up."

Blearily, he rolled back over to look at his wife before noticing his daughter at the edge of their bed. "What is it, angel?"

"Show daddy, sweetheart." Angela obliged, lifting up her nightdress as Patrick leaned closer and groaned.

"Polka dots, Daddy!"

Sharing a withering look with his wife, Patrick sat up and grabbed their dressing gowns, putting his on and tossing Shelagh's next to her on the bed as he knelt next to their daughter.

"No, sweetheart. They're not polka dots, you've got chicken pox."

The little girl looked between her parents, confused. "But I don't like chicken."

"I know you don't, Angie. But this has nothing to do with chickens." Turning to Shelagh, he commented. "You'd better call the school."

"And Nonnatus. One of us will have to stay home with her and it certainly can't be you, you've got patients scheduled all this week. Who do you want me to ask for?"

He didn't hesitate. "Phyllis."

Nodding her head, Shelagh made her way down the hall to the phone. It was half six, too early to call the school, but early enough so that the rota could be changed at Nonnatus.

"Come on, Angel. Back to bed, and Mummy and I will get you some breakfast."

"But Daddy, it's Wednesday. I have school today. I want to show Joyce and Lizzie my polka dots!"

Patrick smiled at his daughter, kissing her head as he picked her up. "Sorry, miss Turner. You can't go to school while you've got chicken pox."

"But Daddy- it's library day!" Angela looked horrified at the thought of not getting a new book to add to her ever-growing collection.

"How about we ask Tim to bring one home for you?"

"How long do I have to stay home from school?"

"It depends...at least a week."

"Can you ask him to get me more than one?"

Patrick smiled, playfully bopping her on the nose as he tucked her into bed. "Absolutely."

Walking out of his daughter's room, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he made his way to the kitchen.

"Alright, Patrick. I've called Nonnatus. Nurse Crane and Nurse Mount will be splitting the shifts at the surgery this week, they're the best with the filing system. I'll call the school in a little while after I've gotten Timothy up. I'm going to need you to run to the shops for a few things, I'm sorry dearest, but I can't very well take her with me. Is she in bed?"

"Yes. And horrified that she can't go to school."

"Well, it's library day. I'd be surprised if she weren't. Do you have any calamine?"

He rummaged through his case and shook his head. "No. I'll pop over to the surgery as soon as I get dressed, and go to the shops too. Is there tea?"

Handing him a cup, she sat down next to him. "This is going to be a long week, Patrick."

"I know. But just think, at least she's getting it now when she's easily distracted and not when she's older like Timothy was."

"How old were you?" His wife asked, brushing the hair off his face.

"I was very young, don't even remember having them to be honest. You?"

"Seven. It was summer and my parents wouldn't let me go outside for a week. It felt like torture."

Their moment of peace was broken by the call of "Mummy!" from down the hall.

"And so it begins. Finish your tea and then get dressed, dearest." Shelagh leaned in to kiss her husband quickly before heading to her daughter's room.

Now, on Saturday morning, Shelagh thought back on the conversation she'd had with her husband. He wasn't so young he couldn't remember having chicken pox, he'd never had them at all.

They had woken up that morning, tangled in one another's arms when Shelagh noticed the mark on his chest where his pajama shirt was unbuttoned.

"Patrick?"

Another grunt. Her husband hated being woken up early on the weekends when they were free to have a lie-in and enjoy each other's company.

"Patrick? What's this mark?"

"It's probably from you." He groaned, not opening his eyes as Shelagh unbuttoned his top to get a better look.

"Oh, Patrick. I hate to be the one to tell you, dearest. But this is certainly not my handiwork."

"What?" He cracked open an eye and looked at her confused.

"You've got chicken pox, darling."

"Impossible. I've already had them. I'm immune. Go back to sleep, the children aren't awake yet."

"Patrick." Shelagh sat up and started to get out of bed. "I'm sorry, but you must not be as immune as you thought." She'd made her way to the vanity and grabbed her compact mirror, flipping it open so he could see his reflection.

"Bloody hell."

After waking up the children and leaving Timothy in charge for an hour, Shelagh ran her errands as quickly as she could to come home and tend to her husband and daughter. Her daughter was happily ensconced in her room, but her husband was sitting up in bed complaining, his pox a startling red against his white striped pajamas.

Shelagh bit her lip to try and avoid the smile she could feel starting to form, but it was useless as she tucked the covers around her husband and giggled.

"Sheeeeelaghhhhh!" He whined, crossing his arms like one of their children.

"Patrick, you've got the chicken pox, not some exotic disease. You'll be fine in a few days. Really, Angela is a better patient than you."

At the mention of her name, their daughter came running into the bedroom, climbing onto the bed next to her father and tucking herself under the covers on her mother's side.

"Don't worry, Daddy. Timmy brought plenty of books from the library for us to read while Mommy makes us better."


End file.
